You Are More Than Enough

It’s almost like the beginnings of acid reflux. A weight behind my sternum. Words drift through my mind; until a sentence takes hold. I have butterflies. I have to write.

I am not going to stop telling you of your infinite worth until you believe of its existence.

You make me want to do nice things, to spoil you. I could — I do — stay up all night because I want to listen to what you have to say. To know more of your opinions about the world. To share things with you, tell you the things that make me me. Take you on walks through the country fields I grew up in and the lanes of my memory. I want to explore the world with you. To know more of the things you do with ease, things that elude me. I want to beat you at chess… I want it to be a hard won victory. I want you to demand an instant re match. I want to know your touch as innately as I know my own yet for it to never loose its shiver-inducing magic. I want to tell you how wonderful and amazing you truly are without dismissal or disbelief. I want you to see the goodness that I see pouring out of you.

‘I can’t be that great or…’

That people cannot see the awesome potential for greatness dancing in your synapses, or that they have treated you as though ignorant of its glorious potential deeply angers me. I want to draw you close, wrap my limbs around you, calm your breathing, take the burden they have given you, stay suspended in time until the thought that you are worthy of so much more than they ever gave you takes root.

‘Shut up’

The words fall out of my mouth before I can catch them. My face is smiling my tone jovial. I didn’t mean to throw back your compliment but it’s too heavy for me to carry. The thought that I am worthy of so much more than they ever gave me. The thought that you can see that truth within me. Your desire to touch that part of me then show it to me. It’s too heavy. The thought that maybe all these years I have been wrong, that I have given my self to the unworthy. Those incapable of seeing my worth, a subconscious fail safe to protect my belief that I am not enough.

You see I understand, maybe not your exact circumstances or experiences — those are yours alone. But I understand your inability to believe me. I too have collected an over-whelming bank of evidence that tells me that I am not worthy. Worthy of love, of more than I dare imagine for myself, of old age, and happy memories. It’s comforting, each time I’m let down it hurts less because well what else did I expect?

I have broken so many well-intentioned promises that I cannot count them.

‘Yeah I promise.’

Easy to say, a meaningless three words to get what I want. Words that I can easily undo through the technicality of syntax — even though I know this is unfair. I know that broken promises have broken your heart, left you angry, hardened your core and your resolve. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I don’t know what the future holds for you or me — us — I like it when you say us. There are many things I wish I could promise you but I wont. I know one more broken promise will be one broken promise too many. But this I can promise: I am not going to stop telling you of your infinite worth until you believe of its existence.

You, me — us — we’d be unstoppable. I see your awesome potential to love, to create, to achieve, to cogitate in the glimpses you allow me. Imagine if we owned them. If we nurtured them and allowed them to grow. If we didn’t say ‘shut up’ and dismiss them I don’t think the world would know what to do with you, with me, with us.